The Dead Marquis Sketch
by drox
Summary: Imagine John Cleese as Old Bailey.


Disclaimer: I don't own Neverwhere or any of its characters. Neil Gaiman created them, so I suspect that he does. Or maybe the BBC. Or Avon books. Lets just say someone owns it, and that someone is not me. And I'm using these characters/locations/etc. without permission. So I'm probably in violation of any number of important upworld copyright laws. But I'm not making any money from this, and since everything in the upworld seems to come down to money, I'm probably okay. I hope.

Oh, and I don't own the Pythons either.

Thanks to Sir Robin and Astrid C. Geise-Zimmer for inspiring this. If you like it, thank them. If you don't, flame me.

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The Dead Marquis Sketch

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Old Bailey was not happy to be here. He hated being in London Below. He was a roof man and proud of it, but favours were favours, and he owed the marquis a big one. And so it was that he was Below, at the Floating Market, speaking to the backside of the smelliest person he'd smelled in a long time."Hello, I wish to register a complaint. Hello? Miss?"

Dunnikin turned round with a start. "What do you mean, Miss?"

Bailey saw that the shopkeeper was not a Miss by any stretch of the imagination, the bows decorating the long ropy tangles of hair that hung down his back notwithstanding. Momentarily embarassed, he fumbled for an excuse. "Oh, I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint." Bailey was not good at excuses.

"Sorry, we're closing for lunch."

Bailey didn't even want to think about what sewerfolk ate for lunch. "Never mind that me lad, I wish to complain about this marquis what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique."

The sewerfolk shopkeeper smiled a truly nauseating smile. No one had ever called his rickety sales table a boutique before. "Oh yes, the marquis deCarabas. What's wrong with 'im?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong with 'im. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with 'im!" 

"No, no 'e's restin'. Look!"

"Look me lad, I know a dead marquis when I see one and I'm looking at one right now!" 

"No, no sir, 'e's not dead. 'E's restin'." 

"Restin'? 

"Yeah, remarkable creature, the deCarabas. Beautiful plumage."

Bailey looked himself over, taking note of the multitude of feathers sewn, tied and stuffed into his shabby coat. He lifted his arms and the feathers dangling from his sleeves fluttered and waved. "Thank you kindly, really, but me plumage don't enter into it." A live pigeon poked its head up from his breast pocket and he paused to push it back inside. "Th' marquis is still stone dead." 

"No, no -- 'e's just restin'."

"All right then, if 'e's restin' I'll wake 'im up." He shook the marquis roughly by his sewage- and blood-stained lapels "Hel-LOOO deCarabas!! I've got a nice roast kitten for you when you wake up, deCarabas!"

Dunnikin had a hard enough time moving his products. Times were hard and he didn't want to lose a sale -- especially to a miniscule little detail like a death -- so he surreptitiously nudged the marquis' arm. "There! 'E moved!"

"No 'e didn't! That was you pushin' 'is arm!" 

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did." Bailey lost what little patience he had. It was time to give this uppity sewerfolk a demonstration. "Hel-LOOO marquis!" he shouted in the dead marquis' face. He grabbed a handful of sewer-slimed marquis hair and, using it as a handle, he pounded deCarabas' head loudly against the wobbly merchandise table until he thought the salesman would have a coronary. "Marquis deCarabas, wake up!" He gave the body a final shove and it tumbled to the floor and lay still. "Now that's what I call a dead marquis!"

"No, no 'e's stunned. You stunned him just now. deCarabas marquises stun easily."

"Look me lad, I've had just about enough of this. That marquis is definitely deceased. And when I bought 'im not half an hour ago, you assured me that 'is lack of movement was due to 'im being tired and shagged out after a long chase through the tube tunnels". 

"'E's probably pining for the fjords."

"Pining for the fjords? What kind of talk is that? Look, why is 'e still flat on 'is back an' immobile like that? 

"The marquis deCarabas prefers kippin' on 'is back. Beautiful creature, lovely plumage."

"Again with the plumage!" Bailey flapped his baggy sleeves for emphasis, and the tied-on feathers snapped angrily with the movement. "Look, I took the liberty of examining that marquis, and I discovered that 'e had not only been beaten senseless and sent floating down the sewer lines, 'e 'ad also been stabbed, crucified, and all but eviscerated! What's more, the only reason 'e were sittin' pretty on that baby carriage is 'e was tied down onnit."

"Well of course 'e were tied down. Otherwise 'e would leap up off that carriage and 'voom'! 

"Look matey, this marquis wouldn't 'voom' if ye' put four thousand volts through it. 'E's bleeding demised!"

"'E is not, 'e's pinin'!"

"'E's not pinin', 'e's passed on! This marquis is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! This is a late marquis.! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If 'e weren't floatin' down the sewer, 'e would be pushin' up the daisies! 'E's shuffled off this mortal coil and joined the bleedin' choir invisible! This is an ex-marquis!" 

There was a pause as the merchant conceded defeat. "Well, I'd better replace 'im then."

"If you want to get anything done in this underworld you've got to complain till you're blue in the mouth." Bailey blathered. Whether he was talking to himself, to the merchant, or to the pigeons nesting in his coat it was impossible to tell.

"Sorry guv, we're right out of marquises."

"I see. I see. I get the picture."

Dunnikin dug through his pockets, looked under his hat, and finally pushed a finger into his ear and pulled out a rubbery blob about three inches long. It was slick and black and quite disgusting. "I've got a slug."

"Does it talk?"

"Not really, no."

"Well, it's scarcely a replacement, then is it?" He'd hoped he wouldn't have to do this, but there didn't seem to be any alternative. He fixed the loathesome Dunnikin with his most intimidating stare and said the words that every denizen of downbelow fears. "You owe me." With that Bailey dragged deCarabas' lifeless corpse away to a place of seclusion and privacy. 

Once there, Bailey pulled a silvery box from one of his many pockets and placed it on the marquis' chest. "If you want anything done right 'round 'ere, you've got to do it yourself." The pigeon in his pocket bobbed its head as if in agreement -- or maybe it was just bobbing as pigeons do.


End file.
